


Divine Hands

by WanderingAlice



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Exposure therapy, First Kiss, Good Omens Holiday Exchange, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, TW: Graphic Depictions of Panic Attacks, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28561149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingAlice/pseuds/WanderingAlice
Summary: After the end of the world didn’t come, Crowley had planned to spend a lot more time with Aziraphale, and Aziraphale didn’t seem opposed to the idea at all. Unfortunately there’s one glaring problem. Crowley has a strong, uncontrollable panic reaction to being touched by something divine. And Aziraphale cannot turn off his own divinity.A Good Omens Holiday Exchange fic written for the prompt: After the Notpocalypse, Crowley and Aziraphale start getting closer...but they find out together that Crowley has deep-seated trust issues triggered by something about Aziraphale that he can't help. They have to overcome it together.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 233
Collections: Good Omens Holiday Exchange 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NotASpaceAlien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotASpaceAlien/gifts).



> This has chapters shorter than my normal length, but it felt better to break it up like this. I'll be putting up a chapter every 2 days until it's finished, or you can read it in its entirety (and a bunch of other excellent fic) over on Dreamwidth at the [ Good Omens Holiday Exchange](https://go-exchange.dreamwidth.org/)
> 
> I push a lot of my own trauma onto poor Crowley, and this fic is no different. Please heed the tags, and if a graphic depiction of someone having a panic attack is upsetting for you, please skip this fic. 
> 
> This was a gift for NotASpaceAlien. Thank you for the wonderful prompt, and I hope you had an amazing holiday season. Here's to a better year to come!

The night after the world did not end, an angel and a demon retired to the back room of an old London bookshop. They had much to celebrate, with six thousand years as not-quite-enemies behind them, and an eternity of their own choosing ahead.

Comfortably curled up on the sofa, Crowley watched Aziraphale and hid a smile. This was where his angel belonged, in the warm and comfortable clutter of his shop and not the cold, harsh light of Heaven. He’d been so afraid he would lose him. Or worse, that they would find each other on opposite sides of a battle field, soldiers from the infernal and the divine forced into combat at the end of the world. The thought had terrified him, but now here they both were, safe and sound and none the worse for wear.

He reveled in the thought of their freedom. Without the restrictions of Heaven and Hell, they could be anything they wanted. They could _do_ anything they wanted. Take a trip to the stars, go visit every city in the world, go off to the middle of nowhere together, or just... continue on as they had, but without that hard line between them. It was a heady thing, that thought. Even though he knew nothing could ever come of his love for Aziraphale, their friendship was one of the best things in his life.

At length, Crowley stretched and rose from his seat, breaking the comfortable silence with Aziraphale’s name.

“Mm?” Aziraphale looked up at him, smiling when his sea blue eyes met serpentine gold.

“I need a drink. Can I get you anything?”

“Oh, hmm,” he hummed, considering it. “Just get me whatever it is you’re having, dear boy.”

“Got it,” Crowley grinned. “Two glasses coming right up.” He started in the direction of the stairs.

“Oh! Wait, Crowley,” Aziraphale reached out as he passed him, fingers brushing his arm. For just a second Crowley froze, and then, with the ease of long practice, he shifted. The movement was so slight it seemed unconscious, but it put a good few inches between his bare skin and the angel’s hand.

“Yeah?”

Like all the times before, Aziraphale didn’t seem to notice the careful distance he kept between them. He just gave him that sweet, honest smile he loved so much, and let his hand fall back to the arm of the chair.

“Feel free to take the good wine. We _are_ celebrating, after all.”

Crowley grinned. “Careful, angel, start saying things like that and I’ll never leave.”

Aziraphale, strangely, did not counter or deflect as he had in the past. “Well,” he said instead, “perhaps I wouldn’t mind if you stayed.”

Surprised, Crowley paused. Then he chuckled and shook his head, moving toward the door to Aziraphale’s small wine cellar “Nah,” he said. “You’d get sick of me before the day was out. I guarantee it.”

He almost didn’t hear Aziraphale’s quiet reply. “You’d be surprised, I think.”

Downstairs, Crowley surveyed the wine rack with a critical eye. What to choose? There were so many good options, but as Aziraphale said they _were_ celebrating. Surely surviving the end of the world was worth one of the truly expensive wines. Perhaps that 1869 Chateau Lafite? Or maybe the 1947 Chateau Chevalier Blanc? Oh, or that bottle he stole to give to the angel back in 1941 from that abandoned wine store during the blitz. He took his time deciding. He wanted their first night of freedom to be absolutely perfect.

“My dear?” Aziraphale called, after some time had passed.

“Here, angel,” Crowley called back, bending down to pick up a particularly old and dusty bottle.

“Oh, there you are!” Aziraphale was behind him, coming from the stairs. Crowley could feel the approaching divinity prickling over his skin. “I wondered where you had gotten to. Any luck with-”

The world froze. And the sound of shattering glass echoed against the walls.

There was a hand. On his back. A divine presence behind him. Holy. Someone holy was touching him. And he was trapped. There was a wall in front of him, and a wall to the right. A few feet away, there was a wall to the left. The danger was between him and the only way out. A roaring filled his ears, and his world narrowed to that one point of contact. His nerves screamed at him to _run_ , run as fast as he could. He had to get away. But his knees locked up and his body froze. He couldn’t move. He was going to be thrown out. Cast aside. The hand was going to shove him forward, and down he’d fall. Down and down and down until he landed in an explosion of heat and noise and pain, They would burn him. Burn his wings to black and his Grace to ash. He only asked questions, but they would cast him out all the same. He couldn’t do it. Not again. Please, God, not again.

The hand lifted.

“Crowley?” someone asked. “My dear, are you alright?”

At last, his body responded. He twisted, scrambling forward, putting his back against the wall and groping for something, _anything_ he could use to defend himself. Frantic eyes scanned the room before him, looking for the danger. That holy presence that had come to destroy him.

“Crowley? Crowley, dear boy, what’s wrong?”

There. An angel. It’s divinity filled the room, and it was coming towards him. He cringed back, away from its outstretched hand.

“Don’t.” The word tore itself from his throat. A desperate plea. The angel stopped. Frowned. He flinched. Unhappy angels meant pain.

The angel stared at him, but didn’t advance. “Crowley? Please, you’re worrying me.”

“D-don’t come any closer.” His voice shook. The angel stepped forward, and he tried to press himself into the wall. This was it. There was nowhere else he could go. “Please.” He didn’t mean to beg, but the word slipped out just as it had before. Now the angel will laugh. Then it will draw its sword, and send him crashing down to Hell.

Nothing happened.

“Alright,” the angel said in a gentle, soothing tone. “It’s alright. It’s just me here. Just Aziraphale. You know me.”

He should his head. He couldn’t think through the panic. Nothing was making sense. The angel took a step back. It wasn’t attacking.

“Yes you do. You’ve known me for six thousand years. I’m- I’m your friend.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” he said, his mind spinning. Where was he? What was he doing here? He was standing in a dark room that reeked of alcohol and divinity. A bottle of wine was shattered on the floor. Had he dropped it? He wasn’t sure. Every nerve in his body hummed with fear.

The angel looked... sad? That didn’t make sense. “Of course you didn’t. Neither of us did. We’re alright. _You_ _’re_ alright.” He took a step forward, and the demon cringed away, wedging himself into a corner between two walls.

“Sssstay back,” he hissed, though a small part of his mind was screaming at him to calm down. Something here was wrong, but his thoughts were all shrouded in a thick layer of fear.

“It’s alright,” the angel said again, backing up and raising his hands, showing him they were empty. “You’re alright, Crowley. You’re safe. You will always be safe here. You know that.”

He frowned, trying to think through the thrumming of terror in his veins. “Safe...” he shook his head. “I’ve never been safe.” Not once. Not in Heaven, and certainly not in Hell. He’d only been safe with... with...

“I promise, dear boy. No one will harm you here. Not while I live.”

The angel had such familiar eyes. Such a bright blue, like the sky after a storm. He _knew_ those eyes. Warm. Comforting. He took a deep breath, watching those gentle eyes.

The angel waited, just watching him. He took another breath and rubbed at his forehead, trying to clear his thoughts. It was like thinking through water.

“What are you feeling?” the angel asked slowly, every word carefully considered before leaving his mouth.

“I...” he could still feel where the hand had been on his back, a burning spot of awareness that made him want to squirm out of his own skin. “Something- something holy. Hands on my- on my back. It- it burns.”

The angel’s hands twitched like he wanted to reach out, but he stayed where he was. “Oh my dear boy, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, tears welling in his eyes. Then his gaze steadied. “There isn’t anything on your back now. It’s gone. Can you feel the wall behind you?”

He nodded. It was there, solid, firm. He could feel the texture of the brick under his fingers. It was cool to the touch and rough against the palms of his hands. He pressed back against it, the firmness of it giving him some relief from that awful sensation on his back. With the brick there, there was no room for a hand to touch him. No room for something divine to sneak behind him and cast him down.

“Good.” The angel’s voice was soothing. Calming. Despite the divinity, it was a voice he trusted. “Can you tell me what you see?"

“Ah-“ he blinked. What an odd question. “I...”

“Please?”

“You.” He looked around, forcing himself to see what was really there behind the angel. “There’s a wall behind you. Wood floor. Bottles of wine. I-“ he frowned. There was a broken bottle on the floor. He could smell the rich red scent of spilled wine from here. “I dropped a bottle.”

“It doesn’t matter,” the angel - he almost had a name for him - said. “I can fix it right up.” He started to make a gesture, to summon a miracle, and the demon flinched, the color draining from his face. Instantly the angel stopped.

“No miracles then? Alright. No matter, I can get it later.” He tried for an encouraging smile. “Can you... can you tell me your name, dear?”

That should be easy. “It’s-“ He had to think. It took a minute. He’d had so many names over the years, taken from him or cast aside as they no longer fit his needs. His thoughts filtered through the slowly fading fear, until he found the one name that was his above all others. The one that the angel, _his_ angel called him.

“Crowley. My name is Crowley.” And standing before him, as dear and familiar as ever, was Aziraphale. Even the threat of divinity around him did nothing to dim the love Crowley felt for him.

“Yes, that’s good.” Aziraphale sounded relieved. “Where are we, Crowley? Where do you think you are?”

“Heaven,” he said immediately. But no, that was wrong. “Or, no, it’s...” Not Hell. Aziraphale would never be in Hell. And this room.... it had the presence of divinity, but not the cold, harsh divinity of Heaven. What was here was more... comfortable. Familiar. Divine yes, but softer, kinder. It felt like _Aziraphale_. And then there was the wine, and the smell of old leather and ink, a hint of cocoa. He could hear the faint sounds of the street outside if he really listened. Even this late, Soho was alive with people.

“Your bookshop.” The bookshop that had so recently been reconstructed by the eleven-year-old Antichrist. Where they had been about to celebrate surviving the apocalypse with the world still intact. Reality came flooding back in as the last of his panic evaporated. Suddenly, he needed the wall for support.

“Oh,” he said, realizing with horror what had just happened. “Oh no.” The thing he’d been dreading for thousands of years had finally occurred. He’d promised himself Aziraphale would never see him like this. That no matter what it took, his angel would never learn about his... his _weakness_. Not when that knowledge would bring them both nothing but pain. And now, he not only knew. He had seen it happen. There was no telling what the angel would think of him now.

“Crowley?” He could hear the worry in Aziraphale’s voice, and felt shame. He’d upset him, when that was the very last thing he had ever wanted to do.

“I’m alright, angel.” He scrubbed at his face, relieved at least he hadn’t cried. He didn’t know if he could take the embarrassment if he had. “I’m just... yeah. I’m alright.” He looked up to meet concerned, gentle eyes, and tried a small smile. It felt horrible, like a caricature of a grin plastered to his face, and he quickly let it slide away.

“Can I... may I come closer now?” The angel asked, reaching for him.

“I... yeah.” Crowley nodded, though he was unable to help the way his eyes followed Aziraphale’s hands warily.

Aziraphale stepped closer, but he kept his hands high where the demon could see them. “Would you like more light in here? Or perhaps darker?”

“Brighter.” It helped to be able to see. He was still pressed against the wall, and he could still feel that discomfort at the center of his back. The place where Aziraphale had touched him, yes, but also the place where the soldiers of Heaven had shoved him so long ago, sending him tumbling over the edge and down into the pit. The burning sensation was purely mental, he knew that. A memory of the searing pain of his Fall. It still made him want to crawl out of his skin.

“I’m going to use my power now to turn on the light,” Aziraphale told him, but waited for him to nod before snapping. The dim bulb in the ceiling suddenly became far brighter, giving off a warm amber light. It chased away the shadows, illuminating the small room for Crowley to see. There was no danger here. It was just the stench of divinity that had made his wounded mind believe there was.

Crowley forced himself to relax a bit more. Checked the time on his watch. Took another deep breath, identifying everything that touched his senses. The cool air of the wine cellar, the little sounds of Aziraphale’s movements, the scents that filled the room. The wine on the floor was an expensive Burgundy, the rich red scent clear to his sensitive nose. It would be a crime to leave it like that. He closed his eyes, and reached for his power. The familiar infernal strength burned within him, answering to his call. He made a sharp gesture, and the power flowed from him. A moment later the bottle repaired itself, returning to its place on the shelf, full once again.

“Thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale hadn’t flinched at his use of power. Why would he? Infernal power didn’t have the same association for him as Divine did for Crowley. The demon crushed the irrational flair of jealousy before it even had the chance to bloom. There was nothing in the world he wanted less than for Aziraphale to feel this himself.

He could still feel Aziraphale’s divinity, pressing on him, just like it always did. He’d spent centuries trying to manage it, because he knew he was worth it. It helped to remind himself that this was Aziraphale. Divine, yes, but also dear to him. An angel, true, but also just a bit of a bastard when he wanted to be. His counterpart on Earth. His friend. The person he loved best in this whole blessed misbegotten universe. Aziraphale, who he _knew_ would never, ever harm him.

As if reading his mind, Aziraphale spoke. “You have nothing to fear here, Crowley. You are safe.” The words were exactly what he needed to hear, though he hated the deep worry he could hear in the angel’s voice.

Crowley took another deep breath, forcing himself to stand without the wall against his back. He tried another smile, this one more successful than the last.

“I’m alright now, angel,” he said, gripping the last of his panic and forcing it down. Of all the nights for this to happen. Of course, it being the night after the apocalypse was probably _why_ it had. His fight or flight instincts had been tested to the limit today, and this had just been a bridge too far. “I’ll just... uh, lets go back upstairs, yeah?”

“Alright.” Aziraphale gave him a long, searching look, and then nodded. “I’ll go first, shall I?”

Crowley nodded, grateful. “Thanks.” He watched Aziraphale walk slowly to the stairs, every movement careful so as to avoid spooking him. He felt sick at the sight, hating himself for it. Aziraphale could not help being holy, any more than Crowley could help his reaction to it. It was unfair - beyond unfair - that he should have to be so careful now because of him.

He gave himself a few minutes before following, deliberately slowing his heartbeat back to normal, waiting until his hands stopped shaking and his breathing regained a proper rhythm. By the time he emerged from the cellar he still felt shaky and weak, but he was once more in total control of his body.


	2. Chapter 2

Aziraphale had made tea. Crowley couldn’t help but smile at that. It was something just exactly like him to do. He looked up when Crowley reached the top of the stairs, scanning his face for signs of distress. He must have been satisfied by what he found because he smiled and pushed Crowley’s teacup a little closer to his spot on the couch.

“Feeling better?” he asked, and Crowley almost laughed. He sounded like he’d only had a bout of the flu or a simple cold, not a full blown panic attack.

“Yeah.” He dropped onto the couch and picked up his cup, if only for something to do with his hands. “I, ah...” He inspected the hot liquid, wishing it would reveal a spell to get him out of what was coming next. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Don’t be,” Aziraphale said. “I’m not entirely sure what that was, but I’m glad I was there. I would have hated for you to go through whatever it was alone.”

Crowley winced. Alone would have been preferable.

Silence fell heavy between them as Crowley tried and failed to come up with something else to say. He sipped his tea, savoring the warmth of it. It was made exactly how he liked it, though he could not remember ever actually telling Aziraphale his preference for tea.

“Can you explain to me what happened?” Aziraphale asked at last, when the silence had grown almost too deep and uncomfortable to bear. “I’d like to understand so I can make certain it doesn’t happen again.”

Crowley squirmed in his seat, still very aware of the feeling of a phantom hand on his back. He could feel scales creeping up his spine, putting a thick protective armor over his skin.

“That’s, ah. Well. Ngk.” He put down the teacup with a clink, so hard some of the remaining liquid sloshed over the edge.

Aziraphale’s face grew more concerned. “Is this the first time this has happened?”

“No.” That answer, at least, was easy. The first time he’d panicked like that had been six thousand years ago. They had just barely known each other then, forced together through necessity as they both tried to guide and tempt the first family of humans. The very first time Aziraphale had touched him, he’d been playing with the baby Abel, bouncing him on his knees as the boy laughed. Aziraphale had come up behind him, and put a hand on his shoulder.

He’d frozen then, just as he had earlier, his world narrowing to focus on the danger - the divinity at his back. A moment later, and he’d miracled himself and the child back to the little cave/lair he’d been making into his home. Abel had been the one to bring him out of it, tugging on his clothing and asking him what was wrong.

After that, he’d been careful. Had made sure that he was always aware of where the angel was. He didn’t let Aziraphale get behind him if he could help it, remaining in motion if they were standing, choosing a seat with his back to the wall if they were seated. He avoided touch when he could without seeming too rude, and learned to recognize the signs of an oncoming attack. Over the years, he’d learned to manage it both out of necessity, and eventually a true desire for the angel’s companionship. By the time he and Aziraphale were actively seeking out one another’s company, he only had to remain vigilant against physical contact to prevent the panic from setting in. He hadn’t had an attack as bad as this in centuries.

“I see.” Aziraphale was watching him, and seeing far too much. “Is it... did I do something to... to set it off?”

“No,” Crowley lied. Aziraphale’s face hardened, and the demon sunk down into his seat, bringing his feet up onto the couch so he could hide his face in his knees. “Yes.”

“Oh.” Crowley couldn’t look at him. He knew what his expression would be, and he couldn’t bear to see it. The hurt in his voice alone was almost too much for him to take.

“It’s not- it’s not your fault,” Crowley added, speaking into the fabric of his jeans. “It would have happened with any angel behind me.”

“Any angel?”

“It’s...” He didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to be responsible for how much it would hurt Aziraphale to know the truth. It wasn’t fair.

“You don’t have to explain, if you don’t want to,” his angel offered. “I want to help, not force you to tell me if you’re not ready.”

Crowley groaned quietly. He didn’t _want_ to explain, but that didn’t mean he didn’t need to. He wanted Aziraphale in his life. He’d already started having dreams of them spending more time together now that they were free. Becoming closer. He wasn’t about to confess his feelings for the angel - he knew that was hopeless. But he wanted him around, as much as he could. And if he wanted that, then the only way to get it would be to confront this weakness of his. This damaged piece of his mind that could not touch something divine without also being overcome by the need to flee from it.

“It’s not that. Not really.” He turned his head just enough so that he could peek at the angel with one eye, the other still pressed against his knee. Aziraphale was sitting very still, hands clasped tight around his teacup.

“Then what is it?”

He sighed, lightly thumping his head against his knees. “It’s your divinity,” he said quickly, hiding his face again as Aziraphale’s frown deepened.

“My divinity?” And there was the hurt. His voice catching as he realized it was his very nature that had caused the demon’s reaction.

“I felt something divine touching me and I panicked.” He hated how he sounded. Like a child scared of the dark.

“I see.” Aziraphale’s voice was careful, controlled. Crowley’s heart sank. Of course. This was the part where Aziraphale says he can’t be around him if his divinity is an issue and asks Crowley to leave.

Only, he didn’t. “You said you felt hands on your back, burning you,” he said instead. “Was that why? Was it- was it because I touched you?”

Crowley chanced a look at him again, to see him sitting still in that same position, the tea growing cold in his hands. “Yes and no,” he said, miserable and hating every moment of this conversation. “It was, ah, the place where they pushed me. When I Fell.”

Tears of sympathy welled up in Aziraphale’s eyes. “Oh my dear boy, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Crowley glared at him, suddenly angry. “It’s not yours to be sorry for.”

“I know,” the angel said gently. “But I am, all the same.”

“Your being sorry doesn’t change it.” His words were bitter. It still stung, even after six thousand years.

Aziraphale let it go, though the pity on his face hurt more than Crowley would ever admit. “I suppose not. But, my divinity wasn’t a problem for you before.” But then his eyes widened in realization. “Or...” The demon could see it in his expression as he remembered a thousand little moments - every time Crowley flinched away or avoided his touch, every visit he cut short, and every single instance where he reacted in strange or unexpected ways to physical contact between them.

“It _was_ an issue, and you never said.”

Miserably, Crowley nodded. “I didn’t want you to know.”

“Why?” That one soft word was worse than any accusation.

“ _Because I_ _’m broken_ ,” Crowley shouted, furious with Aziraphale, with himself, and with the world. “Because I’ve tried for _centuries_ to get over this. But I’m just too weak. I know it’s silly. I know you can’t help being holy. I know I shouldn’t react like that. But I _can_ _’t fucking stop_.”

“Oh my dear boy.” Aziraphale stood, moving to kneel on the rug before Crowley’s couch, though he made no effort to touch the demon.

“Listen to me,” he said firmly, catching Crowley’s eyes and holding him there with the intensity of his gaze. “You are _not_ broken. You are not weak. There is _nothing_ for you to be ashamed of, and I am very glad you had the strength to tell me.”

“I...” Crowley frowned, trying to process his words. “What?”

“You aren’t broken,” Aziraphale repeated. “I’ve seen this before in humans, as a response to severe trauma. I wouldn’t be surprised if many demons have the same issues. We wouldn’t know, since, as far as you and I are aware, no other demon has spent quite so much time around an angel.”

Crowley considered his words. He’d never thought about it in quite that way.

“So... you don’t think I’m being ridiculous?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No, dear. A bit dramatic, perhaps, but not ridiculous. The problem is not your reaction, but rather, what we do now. You see, I would very much like to spend more time together now that we’re free of our respective employers. But I can’t turn off my divinity, and I’d hate to see you uncomfortable.”

Crowley blinked, surprised. “You... _want_ to spend more time with me? Even after...” he made a vague gesture in the direction of the wine cellar.

“Of course,” Aziraphale smiled at him. “I would be lost without you, my dear.”

“Oh.” He sat back, more than a little overwhelmed by that, on top of everything else.

“Unless...” Worry clouded over Aziraphale’s face. “Of course, if you would rather not-“

“No!” Crowley said quickly. “No, I- I want that too.”

“Well then,” Aziraphale sat back on his heels, looking up at Crowley. “Then we need to find a way to make sure you feel safe even with my divinity.”

“Maybe it’ll be fine,” Crowley offered. “If you just don’t touch me. I’m sure if we’re around each other more it’ll go away.” It hadn’t after six thousand years, but, ever the optimist, a part of Crowley hoped that perhaps now that Aziraphale knew, things would be different.

“Hmm.” The angel did not appear convinced.

“It’s worth a try at least,” Crowley grumbled.

Aziraphale did not appear convinced. “Perhaps,” he said. “But if you don’t mind I would like to research this a bit more. I’m certain this sort of thing is common among humans, and they must have worked out some ways to manage it.”

Crowley frowned. He hadn’t ever thought about that before, but Aziraphale was right. Humans did deal with this sort of thing far more often. “Yeah, alright,” he agreed, though he wasn’t certain human methods would work for him.

“Good.” Aziraphale smiled, that warm, honest smile he loved so much. It was almost enough to make him forget the sick, shaky feeling that lingered long after his panic had receded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Now rebloggable from my writing blog](https://wanderingalicewrites.tumblr.com/post/639601438739333120/divine-hands-chapter-2-wanderingalice-good)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading so far, and thank you everyone who left a comment or kudo - I treasure every one. I hope you this chapter! I still feel strange posting such short chapters, but it works better for this story to break it up like this.
> 
> Also - for anyone waiting for the next chapter of Promise, it should be up next weekend!

To Aziraphale’s credit, he did try. Over the next few weeks, as they spent more time together than ever before, he did his best to be careful. He never got behind Crowley, and never startled him. He also tried hard to refrain from physically touching him, though for two people in close quarters together it was next to impossible. But still, no matter how hard he tried, it seemed that there was always something. Never enough to make him panic again, but there were little moments, when hands or bodies would come too close together, where he’d freeze or pull away, where the breath would catch in his chest, and he had to remind himself that the divinity he could feel belonged to Aziraphale. And now that Aziraphale knew what he was looking for, he could see it all.

And, for Crowley, it felt like everything was getting _worse_. He hadn’t had an episode as bad as the night after the not-apocalypse, but he was tense all the time, just waiting for something to happen. The feeling of Aziraphale’s divinity weighed on him. The more time they spent together, the more he could feel it, and the worse it got. He started to notice it all the time, even without physical contact, until it became impossible to ignore. He grew more jumpy, nervous, twitching any time the angel came close to touching him. He hated it. It felt as if, now that the cat was out of the bag and he didn’t have to try to pretend everything was fine, his body took that as the go-ahead to be on the edge of panic at all times. And it certainly didn’t help that underneath the panic, his love for Aziraphale seemed to grow stronger every day. He had never before imagined he could want something so badly, and yet also be so completely terrified of it.

Finally, after seeing Crowley flinch away yet again as Aziraphale’s arm nearly brushed his, the angel snapped.

“This isn’t working,” he said firmly, setting down a book with a thump.

Crowley held his breath, waiting for it, hating himself for getting his hopes up that they would be able to do this. He was the problem of course, and he knew it. He knew avoiding the problem wasn’t working, but he didn’t know what else they could do.

“I can’t keep doing this.” And there it was. Aziraphale was done with him. It just made him feel worse that he could see tears in angel’s eyes. “I can’t keep acting as if I’m- I’m not causing you distress every time we come anywhere close to touching each other.”

“Right.” Crowley looked down to see he was gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white. “Sorry,” he bit out, frustration and anger boiling up inside. How stupid had he been, to think Aziraphale would be willing to stay, when he could barely keep from flinching every time he came closer than six feet away? “I’ll just go then, shall I?”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide and he reached out, almost grabbing Crowley’s arm before he caught himself and pulled back. “What? No! That’s not- that’s not what I meant at all.”

“Then what,” Crowley asked carefully, “did you mean?” He kept his hands firmly by his sides, glad for the long sleeves of his jacket that hid the scales he could feel growing over the skin where Aziraphale had almost touched him.

“I mean,” Aziraphale said slowly, “that we need to find a better way. You deserve better than to be forced to choose between our friendship or your own peace of mind.”

Crowley looked down. It _wasn_ _’t_ fair. But he could see no other option.

“I don’t know what to tell you, angel. There’s not much we _can_ do. It’s not like Heaven’s going to just let me see their healers, and Hell doesn’t have any.”

Surprisingly, Aziraphale smiled. “That’s where you’re wrong, dear. You see, I’ve been spending some time lately reading up on human psychology. And I think they have something that may help you.”

“Human psychology?” He still wasn’t sure human methods could help in his case. After all, no human had ever been sent into a panic attack because they could feel their best friend’s divinity.

Aziraphale turned the book around to show him. “This,” he said, “is a collection of research papers on exposure therapy. For some humans, increasing exposure to something can help reduce or nullify their fear response. In this case, your fear of my divinity.”

He frowned at the book, considering it. “Wouldn’t that have already happened? We’ve been around each other off and on for six thousand years. If ‘exposure’ was going to help, it would have already.”

“Not necessarily,” Aziraphale said. I’ve been watching these past few days, and you react more to touch, or potential touch, than just my presence - even when I’m directly behind you. And, well,” he shrugged. “We haven’t exactly had much occasion to - to touch each other over the years.” Strangely he blushed, eyes dropping to the table. “If I’m right, your fear is that if something divine - in this case, me - touches you, it will hurt. Because there was a time when it _did_ hurt you, terribly so. It’s a perfectly sensible reaction, but inconvenient in our case, as I obviously won’t hurt you. So we need to retrain your body to remember that, well, that touching me is alright.”

“I... huh.” It didn’t actually sound like the worst idea. And if he could touch Aziraphale without panic... well, he’d better not go down that trail of thought. It was best not to get his hopes up.

“Isn’t it at least worth a try?” the angel asked, watching his face.

“I guess.” The worst that could happen was he would freeze up, and panic again like he had the other night. “Better than doing nothing at least.”

“Excellent,” Aziraphale grinned. “I do really think this will work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Also rebloggable on my writing blog](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/wanderingalicewrites)


	4. Chapter 4

They decided to try for the first time in a place where Crowley felt the most comfortable. That, as it turned out, was the plant room in his flat, his own private Eden. They sat together on the floor, facing each other, surrounded by the lush, green, terrified plants.

“Don’t you lot get any ideas,” Crowley warned them, glaring at a particularly troublesome rhododendron. “I’m not getting soft, so don’t start thinking you can put out spots and I won’t put you through the wood chipper, you hear me?”

“Oh dear. Perhaps we’d better try somewhere else?” Aziraphale asked, glancing around at the trembling leaves that filled the room.

“Nah,” Crowley said. “They know better than to cause trouble. And _I_ feel better knowing they’re properly scared of my wrath.” He grinned, enjoying the fond exasperation on Aziraphale’s face. It was his very favorite expression.

“Well...” the angel tried to appear disapproving, but couldn’t quite hide his smile. “I suppose if you’re sure...”

“I am.” Crowley shifted, adjusting his cushion. They’d both agreed it was better to avoid chairs for now. If anything should happen Crowley would now have a clear line of escape in several directions, and there was nothing to fall out of or trip over should his fight-or-flight instincts kick in and he tried to get away.

“How do you want me?”

“Ah.” Aziraphale looked uncertain for a moment. “Let’s just start with something simple for now. How about you touch me, and see what happens?”

“Sure.” Crowley hesitated for only a moment. He had never allowed himself to touch the angel, despite how very much he wanted to, for fear of his own reaction. He reached out, tentative, and put a hand on Aziraphale’s chest. The fabric of his shirt was soft and warm, and the demon was surprised to realize he could feel his heart beating in his chest.

“Anything?”

He shook his head. It felt... nice, though rather awkward, touching Aziraphale like this, but it wasn’t causing him any discomfort or fear. Perhaps because he was in control.

“Alright then.” Aziraphale raised a hand from his lap, holding it just above the demon’s outstretched arm. “I’m going to touch you now, alright?”

“Yeah.” Crowley gritted his teeth. Aziraphale gently placed the tips of his fingers against the bare skin of Crowley’s arm.

Crowley went rigid, his nerves fizzing to life. _Run run run_ , his body sang to him in the increased speed of his decorative heart. _No_ , he told it, forcing himself to hold still. His body would not rule him in this. _Run. Angel. Danger._ His blood raced through his corporation, and he could feel every molecule in his skin where Aziraphale was touching him.

“Are you alright?” The soft words broke through the urging of his body, reminding him that he was not there alone.

“Yeah.” Not really, but he could take it.

“Remember, we can stop at any time.”

“I know.” Part of him wanted to be upset at the reminder, as if he would forget. The other part was simply grateful that Aziraphale cared enough to make sure he knew. “Keep going.”

“Alright.” Aziraphale relaxed his fingers, and let his whole hand rest on Crowley’s arm.

_Run danger danger run_. He could feel the divinity around him, enclosing him, too much and too fast all at once. Scales rippled to the surface, spreading out along his arm from the point of contact in midnight black and crimson red.

“Oh!” Aziraphale exclaimed, eyes going wide.

“Sorry!” Crowley started to pull his arm away, trying and failing to force his scales to retreat back beneath his skin.

“No, wait,” the angel gripped his arm lightly for just a second before letting go. “I was just surprised. Your scales are lovely, dear.”

Crowley made a strangled noise, but kept his arm where it was, with his hand pressed to Aziraphale’s chest. Scales started creeping up his palm and over his fingers as well, covering his hand in his own personal armor. He could still feel through them, though the sensation was dulled. The strangeness of it helped, though, distracting him and keeping his rising level of panic at bay.

“May I?” Aziraphale asked, and waited for his nod before lifting his hand. His fingers traced the pattern of black and red, gentle circles following the curve of each scale. Crowley felt it like lines of heat against his skin, terrible and wonderful at the same time. He desperately wanted more of that contact, but the longer it went on the more he felt ready to crawl right out of his skin. The pressure of it built and built and built, his nerves alight with tension.

At last, it got too much. With a shuddering gasp he yanked his arm away, scrambling backward until his back pressed up against the wall. The phantom touch burned at the center of his back and scales covered his arm, traveling up across his shoulders and meeting the line of them that trailed up his spine.

Aziraphale waited patiently, sitting still on his cushion though it was plain from his expression he wanted nothing more than to comfort Crowley.

The demon took deep breaths, trying to regain his calm. He felt wrung out like a wet dishrag, and far too aware of every part of his body. Slowly, slowly, he gathered himself. His heart and breathing slowed then evened out. As they did, his scales gradually receded, fading back into soft pale skin. He breathed in the rich scent of the earth and growing things, feeling the life that surrounded him. It helped, and soon he was able to focus again, turning his gaze to Aziraphale.

“Alright?” The angel asked, concerned.

Crowley nodded. “Mm. I think so.” He could still feel that spot at the center of his back, but he could think clearly again.

Aziraphale sighed in relief. “Good, I’m glad.”

“I think that’s all I can do for today,” Crowley admitted, looking down. He’d tried not to believe, but he’d still managed to hope that this would work. That they’d just start slow and work up to having the angel touch him from behind by the end of the day. Of course, that had been too much to hope for.

Aziraphale didn’t seem to mind. “That’s fine, dear boy,” he said. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed. Perhaps tomorrow would be better.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real short chapter today. Expect the final chapter up on Thursday! Thank you all so much for reading!!

The next day was the same. And they day after that. And the day after _that_. Crowley could only last so long once his scales appeared before the panic took hold and he ended the session. Every time left him feeling more frustrated than the last. He hated seeing Aziraphale’s hopeful face when they sat down, only to disappoint him again and again.

“It’s fine,” Aziraphale assured him when he expressed his frustration. “I didn’t expect it to happen overnight. But-“ he very carefully rested a hand on Crowley’s arm, paying no mind to the scales that instantly appeared under his fingers. “I am very glad you’re willing to keep trying.”

“You don’t... you don’t mind?” Crowley asked, hating the weakness in his voice. He was certain that sometime soon Aziraphale would get tired of this, declare he wasn’t worth the work and leave. It would break his heart when it happened, but it would not come as a surprise.

“Mind? No.” He looked at Crowley with an earnest, gentle kindness that the demon wasn’t sure he deserved. “If it keeps you in my life, I would be willing to do far more.”

“Even if...” Crowley looked down, watching the scales spreading up his arm. “Even though you shouldn’t have to?”

“Shouldn’t have to?”

He shrugged, hunching his shoulders and ducking his head so he didn’t have to see the expression on Aziraphale’s face. “It’s not your fault,” he said. “You can’t change your divinity.”

“Would you ask me to?” Aziraphale asked quietly.

“What?” Crowley’s head shot up and he stared at Aziraphale with wide eyes, color draining from his face at the very thought. “No!” He all but shouted. “ _Never_.” The idea of Aziraphale losing his divinity, of Falling... it was one of his worst nightmares.

“And yet,” Aziraphale patted Crowley’s arm, his hand warm against his scales. “It is my divinity that is causing you distress.” He smiled, that gentle kindness so very clear in his eyes. “Despite this, you stay, though no one would blame you for leaving now that we are free to choose our own path.”

The demon looked away, feeling the very tips of his ears turn red. “‘Course I’d stay,” he muttered. “Nowhere else I want to be.”

Aziraphale’s smile was warm, and spoke of something Crowley couldn’t quite understand. “I feel much the same. So why would I mind doing what I can to ensure you can remain at my side in comfort?”

“Because it’s not your fault. It’s just me. My... my weakness.”

“Crowley. Listen to me now. _It isn_ _’t your fault either_.” Aziraphale leaned in, speaking with a rare intensity. “I said it before, and I will say it however many times it takes until you believe it. _You are not weak_. What you went through -“ he shuddered, unable to find the words to describe what it must have been like. “You associate divinity with danger, because for you it _is_ dangerous.”

“Yeah, but the infernal is just as dangerous to you, and you aren’t bothered by mine,” Crowley protested.

Aziraphale shook his head. “But you see, it wouldn’t. My experience with Hell has been far less traumatic for me than your experience of Heaven.” He sighed. “Trust me, my dear. This will take time, but I do believe you will heal.”

Crowley scoffed, a tight ball of frustration and anger lodged within his chest. “Then why isn’t it working yet? We’ve been trying this for almost a week now, and we’re still no closer now than we were a week ago.”

For some reason, Aziraphale grinned. “Well, how would you say you’re feeling now?”

“Frustrated,” Crowley admitted, resisting the urge to hiss. “Furious at myself for not being better already.” _And in love with you_ , he didn’t add. But he was, and had been for so very long. Aziraphale’s seemingly inexhaustible patience was only making that particular problem worse. If Crowley hadn’t already been in love with him for centuries, his dedication to seeing him through this would have been more than enough to send him head over heels.

The angel was still grinning at him. “You shouldn’t be.”

“Why?” He growled.

“Because,” Aziraphale’s grin warmed into a proper smile. “I’ve been holding your arm for the past ten minutes, and you haven’t seemed uncomfortable with it once.”

“What?” He looked down. And it was true. There was Aziraphale’s hand on his arm, as soft and warm as ever. The scales that had appeared beneath it had faded as they spoke, until only smooth skin was visible once again. As he watched, Aziraphale rubbed his thumb gently across his wrist.

“Oh!” He stared at the angel’s hand, astonished. He could feel no panic rising up inside him, no prickle of fear along his spine, no discomfort from the touch of divinity on his arm. It just felt... good. Not comforting, not yet, but he could believe that in time it would be so.

“You see?” The corners of Aziraphale’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, the sort of honest, happy smile that took over his whole face.

Crowley felt his own face break out into an answering smile. Their problem wasn’t completely solved, not by a long shot. But he was more hopeful than he’d been in thousands of years.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are! The last chapter! Thank you all so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! If you haven't yet, you should definitely go check out all the other wonderful fic written for this year's Good Omens Holiday Exchange!
> 
> For anyone waiting for the next chapter of Promise, it'll be up next week - unfortunately I've got a massive deadline for work on Tuesday and probably won't have time to finish writing it this weekend.

While Aziraphale could now touch him on the arm without inciting instant panic, Crowley’s progress remained frustratingly slow at first. It was some time before he felt comfortable with Aziraphale’s hands on his upper arms. Longer before he could touch his chest, and then his shoulders. Through it all, Aziraphale remained consistently optimistic. Without his encouragement, Crowley would likely have given up after the second week. But Aziraphale was convinced they would succeed, and his conviction was infectious. All Crowley had to do was look at him, to remember just what, exactly, he was doing this for.

At long last, the day came when they both believed Crowley might finally be ready to try the last - and largest - step. Aziraphale’s hands on his back. Two days before he had managed to sit with Aziraphale’s hand on his shoulder for a whole three hours, and perhaps could have gone for longer had the angel’s arm not cramped up from holding the same position for so long. When he stood up, there had been a moment when their eyes met, and he’d wanted so badly to kiss him then, even though he knew it was a terrible idea. He’d been having moments like that a lot lately. As if, as the fear faded, his heart decided to fill the void with longing.

For this session, they decided to return to sitting on the floor of the plant room. As Aziraphale settled in, Crowley hesitated, and then stripped off his shirt.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, watching him with curiosity.

He shrugged. “It just… feels right,” was his only explanation. Thankfully, Aziraphale didn’t ask anything more.

“Okay.” Crowley looked at the cushion on the ground, and then back to Aziraphale.

“Are you certain you’re ready?” the angel asked.

He nodded. “Yeah.” He was. He turned and dropped down to the cushion with a thump, his back to Aziraphale.

Instantly, he was aware of the divinity behind him. But, unlike the last time, while he was aware of it, it did not paralyze him. The weeks of work together paid off, and he was able to sit still and almost relaxed even as Aziraphale moved behind him.

“Is this alright?” Aziraphale’s voice was concerned.

“Mm, I think so.” Crowley stretched, feeling the divinity at his back. His skin prickled with awareness, and his breath hitched as he felt Aziraphale shift closer, reaching out.

“I’m going to touch you now,” he announced. Crowley could feel his hand hovering just above the bare skin between his shoulder blades.

“Go for it.” He braced for it, gripping his hands together in his lap.

Warm fingers touched his skin. He froze, suddenly aware of every inch of his body. That spot in the middle of his back _burned_ , and he fought the frantic urge to jump away.

_This is Aziraphale_ , he reminded himself again and again. _Aziraphale will not hurt me. It_ _’s alright. I’m alright._ Five tiny points of contact felt like brands against his skin. Scales rippled up to the surface, spreading out from Aziraphale’s fingers more and more with each passing second. Even so, it was not as bad as it had been before. He could still think clearly. He knew who was behind him, and when and where they were. This time, finally, the panic did not own him.

“How are you feeling?” Aziraphale’s voice broke through his thoughts, a welcome distraction.

He blinked, frowning, and considered his answer. “I…” he took a breath, then tried again. “I can still feel the fear,” he admitted. “But this isn’t nearly as bad as it was. This is… it’s fine.” It didn’t feel _good_ , not in the way it was beginning to feel when Aziraphale touched him on the arm or chest now, when he could see what he was doing, but it wasn’t _bad_ either. Not really.

“Is it alright if I use my whole hand?” Aziraphale asked, the tips of his fingers still pressed against his back.

Crowley thought about it, gauging his level of panic and how much more he could tolerate. At length, he nodded. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

The hand on his back flattened out. Crowley sucked in a sharp breath. The five individual points of contact became one large one just between his shoulder blades, over the vulnerable bones of his spine.

“Alright?” Aziraphale asked, concerned.

“No, but keep going.” His world narrowed to that one point of contact, the place where something divine met something infernal. His back was nearly all scales now, thicker and harder along the spine, down to thin, tiny scales curling around his sides.

“Are you sure?”

He gritted his teeth and bit down a sarcastic response. He appreciated Aziraphale’s care, he really did, but this was difficult enough without having to confirm everything three times.

“I’m sure,” he said a moment later. “Just- keep talking. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Alright,” Aziraphale said slowly. “I was thinking, well,” he paused, choosing each word carefully before he spoke. “If I’m being entirely honest, I was thinking of how I used to be afraid of you.”

“Me?” Crowley asked, surprised.

“Yes.” The angel hummed thoughtfully. “You know, when I first saw you in the garden in your serpent form, that great big snake, you were quite terrifying.”

“Really?” Crowley grinned. It was rather flattering, honestly. He would be horrified to find out Aziraphale _still_ feared him, but it was nice to know he wasn’t a complete failure of a demon.

“Mm, yes. When you came up to me on the wall I was half convinced you were going to kill me. But-” He gave a small chuckle. “You didn’t. You just sat there, watching the humans walk away with my sword, and you didn’t even _try_ to attack me.”

“So, what,” he asked, joking. “I don’t attack you one time and suddenly you’re not scared anymore?” He wished it were that easy for him.

“No.” Behind him, Aziraphale shook his head. “It was about, oh, two decades later? After - well, after everything with Cain and Abel. I saw Cain off and was on my way back to comfort the family, when I found you by Abel’s grave. I don’t think you noticed me, but I could see that you’d been crying.”

“I wasn’t,” Crowley said reflexively. He had, indeed, been crying rather an embarrassing amount that day. He’d helped the first humans raise both their sons, and their daughters. Abel had played with his hair and chewed on his fingers as a baby, but as he’d grown older he had been so _curious_ about everything. He’d asked so many questions, often seeking out Crowley as the one being who usually had an answer for him - or at least would be honest if he did not know. They’d spent many hours together while Abel worked in his fields, puzzling each other with their questions. The loss of him… it had been almost as shattering as the loss of Heaven. He knew now to expect it of the humans he grew close to, but that first time… He hadn’t really believed any of the first family _could_ die, until one of them had.

“Of course,” Aziraphale said indulgently. “In any case, Abel’s death effected you. And I realized then that you were just like me in a way. Both in over our heads, in a new job, not particularly understanding - or even agreeing with - all the things we were asked to do, thrown together here in this new place, without the familiar comforts of Heaven. We were both just here to do our jobs, even if we did work for opposite sides. That was when I knew I didn’t have to fear you, not really. We might have had to fight from time to time _because_ of our jobs, but it wasn’t _personal_. You were no more out to destroy me than I was you. And after I realized that, well, it was only a matter of time before we came to the Arrangement.”

“Now hang on,” Crowley frowned. “We didn’t come to the Arrangement until 1020 AD. Are you telling me we could have been helping each other out since _the mid four-thousands_?”

“No, I don’t think either of us would have been ready for that so early,” Aziraphale said. “Just because I didn’t fear you anymore, it didn’t mean I wasn’t still convinced you would mess up my job if given the chance.”

“Huh. Fair, I guess,” Crowley said. He could still feel Aziraphale’s hand on his back, but the panic was fading. He had never thought _Aziraphale_ might be scared of _him_. He’d always seemed just a little nervous, worried about doing the right thing, of receiving punishment from Heaven, but it had never occurred to him that the angel would be outright _afraid_.

“Your serpent form still worries me a little,” Aziraphale admitted after a moment. “Not- not enough that it would ever be a problem. It’s just, you know, you _are_ very large as a snake.”

Crowley couldn’t help it. He laughed. “Well,” he said. “Maybe after this I can transform and wrap around you until you’re used to it, just like you’re doing here for me.”

“Mm.” Aziraphale made that noise he sometimes did that meant he was thinking. “Perhaps we should. I’m not truly afraid of it, but I would like to see you like that again. I do very much like your scales.”

The demon blushed. “Ah, that is, um.” He stammered. “I, ah… thank you?”

He could almost _feel_ Aziraphale’s grin. He knew exactly what expression the angel would be wearing. “You’re quite welcome, my dear.”

They were silent for a moment.

Then, hesitantly, Aziraphale spoke again. “May I… can I ask, why did you stay?”

“Hmm?”

“You stayed,” he explained. “Even though my divinity frightened you. You knew that, working so closely together, even on opposite sides, it was likely we’d come into close proximity. But even though you knew what it would do to you, you didn’t request a transfer to somewhere you’d be more comfortable.”

“Ah.” He wasn’t sure he could explain it. At least, not in a way that made sense. “Do you…” he sighed. “Do you remember what you said to me, up on the wall, that first day?”

“What I said to you?”

“You said- you asked me if you’d taken the best course, giving your sword to the humans.” Six thousand years later, and he could still remember every word. “And, well, you shouldn’t have been asking _me_. Any other angel would have killed me on sight, flaming sword or no. Especially after what I’d just done. But you - you asked my opinion, as if it mattered what I said. And I was scared, yeah, but I also knew if I left, if I let someone else take over, well. They would take advantage of that - that innocence. And then we kept being assigned to the same places, and I actually got to _know_ you, and I found you were kind, too - and not the fake kind like most angels. You really mean it. Any other demon would have delighted in burning that out of you in the worst ways possible. And I didn’t…” he looked down, thankful for the scales that covered his back now because he was certain his entire body was bright red. “I didn’t want to let them do that to you. So I talked myself into staying. Figured I could manage the panic well enough anyway, it didn’t have to stop me from being around you.”

“Oh, Crowley, I-”

“And! “ He rushed to add, cutting off any sentiment Aziraphale might have been about to express. “And, well, Hell isn’t exactly a walk in the park either. It’s not like I would have gone back to a five star hotel and living in the lap of luxury. More like torture chambers and sewage leaking onto my desk. So yeah, the panic thing wasn’t great, but Earth was interesting - still is, really. More than worth staying here for.” He wasn’t going to add that as upsetting as dealing with his fear of divinity was, Aziraphale had never really been the kind of angel he knew he _should_ be afraid of. He was everything the humans believed an angel should be, and that was exactly what Crowley loved so much about him. To step aside, even for his own safety, and watch another demon destroy that? It had been unthinkable then. It was far more than unthinkable now.

“Thank you, my dear boy.” Something in Aziraphale’s tone said he knew the real reason Crowley stayed, and was grateful.

Silence fell between them once more. Crowley could still feel the scales covering his back, though patches along his sides had already started to recede. The worst part was still that spot in the middle of his lower back, where a large cluster of scales had grown thicker than all the rest. He could almost feel the burning, and it took effort to keep from squirming away from Aziraphale’s hand.

“Are you still doing alright?” the angel asked, and waited for his nod. “Then I’m going to move my hand a bit lower now, okay?”

Crowley clenched his jaw, but nodded again. “Go for it.”

Aziraphale’s fingers moved in small circles against his back for a moment, before he slowly slid his hand down the demon’s spine. Lower, and lower, until he touched the thickest patch of scales.

_Aziraphale_ , Crowley chanted in his head. _Aziraphale. This is Aziraphale. He_ _’s safe. He won’t hurt me._ He had to repeat it to himself again and again. And then, Aziraphale’s hand pressed firmly against _that spot_.

Fear jolted up Crowley’s spine, and suddenly his wings manifested, flaring wide as he fought to contain his panic.It took everything he had to remain in place and not launch himself up out the window and into the sky. Aziraphale yanked his hand back, gasping in shock as he was forced to duck to avoid being hit by Crowley’s wings.

“Bloody Heaven,” Crowley cursed, folding his wings tight around himself and turning to find the angel sprawled on the floor, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Sorry Aziraphale,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“No, no, that’s- that’s quite alright,” Aziraphale said, picking himself up and dusting off his clothes. “I just wasn’t expecting it, though, considering your past reactions, perhaps I should have.”

“Sorry,” Crowley said again, blushing. “I, um.” He took a moment to collect himself. His wings manifesting had been a surprise, but he didn’t feel overwhelmed now, the way he usually did when the panic overtook him. Actually, with his wings out like this, he felt _better_ , calmer, more in control of himself.

“Are you okay?” Aziraphale asked him.

“I…” he stopped, taking stock of himself be fore answering. Really, he felt better than he had all morning. “Yeah,” he said, surprised. “I really am. I think… I think I want to keep going.”

“Are you sure?” the angel asked dubiously.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I can take it now.”

He took a deep breath, and then nodded. “Alright then, if you’re sure…”

“I am.”

“Turn around then.” He sat back down on his cushion, and gestured for Crowley to do the same.

The demon sat, settling in once again. He kept his wings wrapped tight around him, leaving the expanse of his naked back clear for the angel.

“Your wings are beautiful, you know,” Aziraphale said, still sounding slightly breathless. “I always thought so.”

Crowley smiled, pleased with himself. He prided himself on how well he kept his wings, and it was wonderful to hear someone compliment them. Especially _this_ someone. “Thank you,” he said, preening a little. “Maybe later you can show me yours.” He blushed as soon as he said it, realizing how it might have sounded once the words were out of his mouth.

Aziraphale hummed, shifting until he was back in position. “Perhaps,” he said, and Crowley’s blush deepened.

“Now,” the angel said after a moment. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah.” Crowley braced himself, ready to fight down the panic once again.

“I’m putting my hand on your back now,” Aziraphale warned. Seconds later, warm fingers pressed against his spine. Crowley tensed, expecting panic. Only…. Nothing happened. No surge of fear. No burning phantom hands. No desire to move away. Aziraphale let his palm rest against his skin, and still the fear did not come.

“Is this okay?” the angel asked.

“Yeah,” Crowley said, shocked by how easy it felt. He was still uncomfortably _aware_ of the divinity behind him, but the fear was… _gone_. It felt as if, when his wings released, they had chased away the last of his pain and fear.

“Yeah,” he said again. “It’s- it’s alright. No trouble at all.”

“Really?” Aziraphale asked, just as surprised. “Even if I go lower?” He dragged his hand down Crowley’s spine to rest on the thick patch of scales - which promptly faded back into the demon’s skin.

“Nothing,” Crowley observed, still surprised. “It’s just… normal.” Not entirely normal, really. His skin still prickled with proximity to divinity, but without the fear in the way his decorative human heart was beating faster for a much different reason.

“And now?” Aziraphale brought up his other hand, letting it rest on his back, just under the base of his right wing.

“Fine,” he said with wonder.

“No panic?”

“Nothing at all.”

“Then…” Aziraphale hesitated. “May I touch your wings?” he asked, lifting a hand slightly in anticipation.

Crowley considered it. Wings were far more intimate than his back. And yet, it was the natural progression. If Aziraphale could touch his wings without him panicking, it would mean they really had been successful at healing this part of him.

“Alright. Go for it.” He relaxed his wings, letting them fall naturally against his body. A heartbeat later, Aziraphale’s warm fingers sank gently into his soft feathers. And Crowley groaned with pleasure. It felt wonderful. Better than standing under a hot shower, or stretching after a long time bent over a desk.

Aziraphale’s hands vanished from his wings. “Crowley?” he asked, concerned.

“Keep doing that,” the demon demanded. “It felt amazing.”

“Oh.” The hands came back, this time moving gently through his feathers, carefully preening them.

“Mm, yeah, keep doing that,” Crowley ordered, reveling in the sensation, both of Aziraphale touching him, and being free from the fear.

Aziraphale obliged. He started at the outer edges of his wings and worked inward slowly, preening and stroking. Crowley melted into it. He kept expecting the panic to return, his fear to suddenly spike and it all to become too much once again. It never did.

At last, Aziraphale reached the base of his wings, his hands moving to Crowley’s bare skin and massaging his shoulders. “Is this…” he asked, trailing off as the demon nodded.

“Keep going. Please.”

He did. He used a firmer pressure on his back than he had on his wings, massaging slow circles into the tense muscles of his shoulders and neck. Each time he moved his hands, scales would ripple to the surface and then fade away. There was no fear now, just a sense of that divinity. But even stronger was the sense of _Aziraphale_. And as frightening as the divine still was to him, he realized that he trusted his angel far more.

As he slowly began to relax under Aziraphale’s hands, Crowley was mortified to realize that he was crying. He tried to hide it, but a loud sniff alerted the angel, who froze.

“Crowley?”

“I’m fine,” he tried to say, but was betrayed by the tremble in his voice.

“You are not.” The hands lifted from his back, leaving him feeling cold where they had been. “What’s wrong?”

Crowley shook his head, not entirely able to put it into words.

“What is it?” Aziraphale moved around to his side, reaching out again and taking his face in his hands, turning his head to look him in the eyes. “My dear?”

Crowley closed his eyes, unable to stop the tears that spilled from them. He found himself shaking from a strange combination of longing and relief. This was too much, in a very different way. This care, this gentleness… Aziraphale had been patient with him for _weeks_. Had given so much time and effort to help him through this, even though this fear was caused by something that was no more his fault than the color of the sky. He wasn’t sure he deserved such care.

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale wiped away his tears with his thumbs. “My dear, dear boy.”

Crowley reached up and gripped Aziraphale’s arms, grounding himself in the solidity of him. That steady rock at the center of his chaotic universe. He swallowed a sob, his hands traveling up Aziraphale’s arms to his shoulders, then his neck, then his face.

“You- angel, I’m not- I- I don’t…” He didn’t have the words to describe this, this overwhelming mix of love and fear and hope and release.

“My dear.” Aziraphale leaned forward, resting his forehead against the demon’s. “You do. You are.”

“You didn’t have to do all this,” Crowley said. “Take so much time with me, when I-”

Aziraphale pressed a finger to his lips. “I was glad to,” he said firmly. “It was worth it. _You_ are more than worth it.”

There was something more now, a feeling Crowley couldn’t quite name. Something almost _human_ in nature. That same something that had allowed them to change from hereditary enemies, to something a lot more like friends. It was changing within them now again, as the balance of their relationship shifted once more. The barrier of fear was gone, leaving endless possibilities in its wake.

“I love you.” The words slipped out before he could stop them, his voice choked with emotion.

Aziraphale gasped, and Crowley cringed, expecting him to pull away. He didn’t. Instead, his fingers tangled in Crowley’s dark hair as tears of his own welled up in his eyes. “Oh, _Crowley_.”

“You don’t- you don’t have to-” he started to say, but stopped short, stunned, when Aziraphale kissed him gently on the forehead.

“My dear boy,” the angel said, voice so low it was almost a whisper. “I should think by now it was obvious how I feel.”

“How you feel?”

The angel gave him a small smile. “I love you as well. Far more than you know.”

“Oh.” Crowley stared at him, golden eyes wide.

“Yes.” Surprising the demon further, he blushed. “I, ah. I wanted to say something years ago, but it never really felt like the right time. And then, I was going to tell you that night after the apocalypse, but, well..”

“I panicked.”

“Yes.” His hands pulled away from Crowley’s face, instead tangling with the fingers now resting against the angel’s chest. “I didn’t want to force my feelings on you when you could barely manage the presence of my divinity. I meant to wait for as long as you needed, even if that meant waiting for another thousand years.”

“Aziraphale…” that was far, far more than Crowley had ever thought to hope for. More than he deserved, really. But he would take it all the same.

“May I…” Aziraphale was blushing, face turning nearly as red as Crowley’s crimson scales. “That is to say, I would like to, oh, I mean I..”

“Angel?” Crowley prompted, waiting for him to complete his thought.

“May I kiss you?” he blurted out, ducking his head and looking away before the demon could answer.

Crowley blinked. Then he reached out, and gently turned Aziraphale’s face toward him.

“You don’t have to say yes!” Aziraphale said quickly. “I know it’s rather a lot to ask so soon, and you might not want-”

“Yes,” Crowley said, interrupting his nervous flow of words. “I- I’d like that. Very much.”

“You- you would?” Aziraphale looked at him then, scanning his face for sincerity.

“Yeah.” Crowley smiled at him. “I would.”

“Oh.” He paused. “Then…” He took Crowley’s face in his hands, leaning in until the demon could feel his breath against his cheeks. “If you’re sure…”

This close, Crowley could smell him. The divinity was there, a harsh ozone taint to his scent, but it was overpowered by other, better things. Old leather and paper. Cocoa. Ink.

“I’m sure,” he murmured, looking deep into those wonderful eyes.

Aziraphale kissed him.

Light exploded behind his eyes and heat surged through his veins. He could taste divinity on his tongue, overpowering his senses. For just a moment, he was afraid the fear would return. But then Aziraphale’s hands were on his back, fingers digging into his skin, pulling him closer. Scales rippled across his back and his wings flared wide, wrapping around them both. His own fingers tangled in Aziraphale’s hair, dragging his head down so he could add more pressure, deepening their kiss. Power surged around them, their true forms melding together on another plane, coming together in something not quite divine, and not quite infernal, but completely and ineffably _theirs_. It burned, like wearing lightning, but soothed like cool water. It was too much and not enough all at once. It was the most extraordinary thing he had ever experienced, and he never wanted it to end.

He gasped when they broke apart, relieved and bereft all at once.

“Was that-” Aziraphale’s voice sounded just about as wrecked as he felt. “Was that alright?”

“I don’t know,” the demon said with a grin. “I think we’ll have to do it again to find out.”

And so, they did.


End file.
